Monday, September 1, 2014

Guest Column: FROGS (Not the Aristophanes One)

By Hank Parmer (AKA "grouchmarxist")

Frogs - or - Package for
You, Sir

In any competition for the least terrifying concept ever for
a nature-runs-amok movie, there are two clear stand-outs: Night of the Lepus and Frogs.
Both hit the theaters in 1972, with the obvious intention of cashing in on the
movie-going public's growing environmental awareness.

The carnivorous killer bunnies featured in Night of the Lepus are a pretty
ridiculous premise, even if they are the size of Shetland ponies.To their credit, the producers of Frogs didn't try to conceal the identity
of their chief antagonists behind Linnaean nomenclature. But, in a severe
disappointment to anyone expecting to be ribbeted -- er, riveted to their seat
by the amphibian world's most fearsome predator in all its elegantly lethal glory,
the "frogs" which appear in this film are actually toads.

Don't believe me? Take a look at this still:

That, sir, is a toad! They're not even extra-big toads.
Frogs, toads, whatever. It's hard to work up much anxiety over creatures whose
offensive capabilities are limited to either smothering you under a whole mess
of 'em, or somehow tonguing you to death. (Though I'm kind of hazy on the
precise mechanics of this, I'm certain you sickos can come up with some
semi-plausible scenario.)

But this little bait-and-switch presents the conscientious
reviewer with a dilemma: if I refer to the toads who'll appear in innumerable,
interminable close-ups as "frogs" I'd be helping the filmmakers put
over a deliberate deception. Scare-quoting "frogs" every time would
likely give me a nasty case of carpal tunnel. Calling them “pseudo-frogs” or
"froads" would just confuse everyone, and sound really silly. To hell
with it: I'm going to call a toad a toad! I'm just that kind of guy.

As we'll see, though, it's other swamp critters who end up
doing the dirty work. So either the toads are commanding them, or they're a
kind of Greek chorus whose comments on the action (I use the word loosely)
consist solely of monotonous croaking, as a subtle counterpoint to Ray Milland's
monotonous whining.

Frogs opens with
Sam Elliott as our protagonist "Pickett Smith" -- whose name sounds
like a line of Western-themed casual wear, made in Thailand and sold at J. C.
Penney -- paddles his canoe through the swamp. At least, we're encouraged to
believe it's a swamp by stock jungle noises familiar to every kid who's watched
a Tarzan flick. He's taking photos of creatures culled from the wide selection
available in the reptile aisle at Pet World -- and toads. He snaps some more
shots, of garbage in the water and a discharge pipe.

He's clad in jeans and a denim shirt -- of course, Pickett
wears only natural fabrics. He also wears a Number One (concerned). In keeping
with his character's uncomplicated, eco-friendly lifestyle, during the course
of this movie Elliott will employ only three expressions:

1. Concerned

2. Pensive

3. The wry smirk

Pickett paddles out onto a lake. Karen Crockett (Joan van
Ark) and her brother Clint (Adam Roarke) are screwing around in a fancy ski
boat. In a desperate last-minute bid to get out of his contract, Roarke tries
to run over Elliott. (I kid: he's too busy chugging a Bud to watch where he's
going -- which is a very authentic touch, when it comes to recreational
boating.) He swerves at the last moment, but their wake dumps Pickett's canoe.

Clint pulls his boat up next to Pickett and offers a hand
up. As he clambers aboard, Pickett yanks Clint over the side. Gotcha, sucker!
Clint's a good sport, though: he promises to replace all the equipment Pickett
just lost. Clint and Karen invite him to lunch; Karen flirts with Pickett while
they tow his canoe to their mansion.

Wheelchair-bound Jason Crockett (Ray Milland) watches them
through binoculars. As the ski boat pulls up to his dock, he orders his
weaselly son-in-law, Stuart Martindale, to find out what's happening, then
resumes biting the heads off whippets.

Toad.

[There are so many cutaways to close-ups of toads and other
supposed swamp critters throughout the course of this movie that I'd originally
intended not to mention them at all. But the intricate, Schoenberg-esque rhythm
of this film's construction is key to appreciating its mind-numbing tedium. So
as you read this, just keep it in mind that "lingering close-up of"
should precede every mention made in this review of a toad or any other lower
form of life -- except for Uncle Stuart.]

Speaking of close-ups, there's another important character
in the drama: Sam's package. His jeans are very tight, you know. You can see
everything. Nothing left to the imagination.

Clint's impressed by Pickett's package. He wants to know:
"How are you at badminton?" He'd like to play a set or two of tennis,
or ping-pong, or something. "We want you for our fun and games!" says
Clint, as he drapes his arm possessively around Pickett's shoulders. As we'll
see, in addition to his alcoholism, Clint's a randy little bugger, much given
to innuendo by sports metaphor.

It seems Pickett has inadvertently crashed patriarch Jason
Crockett's big birthday shindig. Jason owns the entire island. Every year, he
terrorizes his kin for a couple of weeks around the Fourth.

Toads.

Uncle Stuart meets the trio as they walk across the lawn,
through mist-shrouded live oaks and trailing Spanish moss. He warns them
Grandpa's in a bad mood today -- which is a revelation on the order of
"water is wet" and "Michael Bay makes loud, stupid movies".

Toads.

Pickett meets Jason and his grandson Michael Martindale, who
sticks so close to Grandpa it looks as if he's exploring a career in
commensalism, like that Kwokian monkey-lizard who picks space-lice off Jabba
the Hutt.

Jason demands to know why Pickett's been taking photos all
around his island. (He drinks his Metamucil from the skull of the last
trespasser.) Pickett explains he's a freelance photographer, working on a
pollution layout for an ecology magazine. He's previously won a Pulitzer for
his pictorial essay "The Landfills of Madison County".

Jason claims photographing his private island is illegal.
Pickett reminds him Ronald Reagan isn't president yet. Mike asks Pickett:
"Did you take any pictures of frogs this morning? I saw the biggest
bullfrog."

Mike then complains about the racket the frogs have been
making. Jason says he sent Grover out to take care of that. There's probably notmuch a furry, pot-bellied, purple Muppet who
earns money on the side dubbing Yoda can do, but Jason told him to spray the
bay on the north side of the island, anyway. Jason asks Pickett if he saw
Grover while he was paddling around. Nope. Where's Grover?

Inside the mansion, another disturbing development: the
phone is dead. (The toads are nothing if not old school.) Clint's wife, Jenny
(Lynn Borden) shows Karen and Pickett an adorable drawing by her kids -- of
frogs!

Clint goes upstairs to shower -- a cold one, hopefully --
while Karen introduces Pickett to Aunt Iris. Iris Martindale is Jason's
daughter, a flaky matron straight out of Southern Gothic 101, with just a dab
of Geraldine Page in Summer and Smoke.
She's putting a monarch butterfly in a bell jar for Daddy's birthday. Pickett
also meets Karen's cousin, Ken Martindale -- the artistic one -- and his beard,
stunning African-American fashion model Bella (Judy Pace). She too is awed by
Pickett's packet. The air just fizzles with sexual tension, here at Casa
Crockett.

Pickett and Karen leave. Iris shows her bell jar to Ken and
Bella. Ken feels it's a much more successful effort than last year's dead vole
in a guano-caked bird's nest.

Cut to: bare-chested Pickett, in Clint's bedroom. Wearing a
silk bathrobe, Clint emerges from the bathroom after taking his shower. The
homoerotic vibe is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Pickett's inspecting a framed football jersey, perhaps drawn
to it by Clint's powerful man-musk. Clint tells him that Jenny was the one who
framed it: "She's still impressed with me, after I was Midwest Valley
Central's highest scorer!" Ah ... another double entendre. My guess is Clint's alma mater was the Midwest Valley
Central Institution for the Perpetually Priapic.

Clint has a shrine, made up of trophies from his glory days
at MVCIPP. Oh, crap: Cat on a Hot Tin
Roof just wandered into the script! Although this dialog does sound as if
it could have been written by Williams ... Tuscaloosa Williams, that is. (He's
the one nobody in Tennessee's family would talk about.)

Metaphor alert: the trophy display also includes pictures of
Jenny, back when she was a cheerleader. While he fondles one of his football
trophies, Clint coyly mentions he's the same weight as when he was playing.
Just when this might be getting interesting -- toads.

Cut to the garden, where Ken's taking pictures of Bella.
Charles, the butler, appears: "Mr. Kenneth, I have a message from your
grandfather."

Ken: "With or without the profanity, Charles?"

Charles wisely chooses the latter: "'Get your
[bleep]ing ass to the mother-[bleep]ing party, you [bleep]ing little [bleep] or
I'll rip your [bleep] off and stuff it up your rancid [bleeeeeeeeeeeep]!
[Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep]!'" (Or words to that effect.)

On their way to the party, Ken and Bella pass a reflecting
pool; the camera lingers on a concrete statue of a frog. Cut to close-up of a
toad.

The Crockett clan's gathered on the lawn. Grandpa gripes
about the kids being late for the party, then lectures Jenny about proper
child-rearing techniques. Why, the daily beatings -- along with frequent
testicular electroshocks -- made him the man he is today! The children, Jason
and Tina, run up with a toad they want to show to Grandpa. Mike snatches the
toad out of little Jason's hand and pitches it away. Jenny claims all the noise
from the frogs is making everyone crazy.

Jason changes his tune: he's decided Pickett must be an
"ecology expert" and now wants him to do a frog survey on the island.
Anything to shut these whiny titty-babies up. Pickett goes along with the gag.

Toads.

Later, Jason meets with Pickett in private, in the study/gun
room. He too is strangely attracted to Pickett's package. I mean, damn, it's
right at his eye-level, so what's he supposed to do?

Even veteran actor Ray Milland is mesmerized by the power
of Pickett's package!

There are stuffed birds and other animals, and moth-eaten
mounted heads on the wall: a lion, a warthog, a Cape Buffalo, a Jehovah's
Witness and a meter reader. Jason asks Elliott to keep an eye out for Grover,
while he's frog surveying. Jason offers to lend Pickett a rifle, but -- in the
one intentionally humorous line in this turkey -- Pickett pulls a Number Three
(wry smirk) and drawls, "I don't think a stuffed bullfrog would add a
thing."

Besides, the toads have probably run them all off.

Pickett's expert frog surveyin' consists of strolling
through the woods and swinging a stick, while looking concerned (Number One).
Speaking of swinging and wood, it really is a remarkable coincidence how often
Elliott's package occupies the center of the frame.

More strolling, more dead critters. For a flick which makes
such a big fuss about its pro-environmental message, the filmmakers sure do
seem to have offed one hell of a lot of exotic reptiles. What's even more
despicable is they were easily the most sympathetic characters in the entire
supporting cast.

Back at the mansion, Bella hangs with Maybelle, while the
maid sets the table for dinner. Then she joins the rich folks in the parlor.
Clint comes on to Bella, in plain view of his wife. Jenny makes a catty remark,
then complains once more about those damned noisy frogs. (This hellish racket,
by the way, is so overwhelming that the characters are forced to carry on their
conversation in a normal tone of voice. I think the director believed that if
they complained about the noise often enough, the audience would eventually
believe it.)

Karen says she's worried about Grover, but Jason says it'll
serve him right if he's lying in a ditch somewhere. Karen objects: "You
make us sound like we're the worst of the ugly rich!"

Jason replies: "We are the ugly rich!" (Thanks for
cluing us in on that one, Ray.)

Iris chimes in: "We're entitled to be the ugly rich.
God knows we pay enough in taxes!" Then she bitches about the government
making them put strainers on their paper mills. Why, it's going to shoot their
dividends all to hell!

Toads.

Driving Grover's jeep, Pickett pulls up to the mansion.
Stuart's standing on the porch. He asks if Pickett's seen Grover. Grover? Who's
Grover? Stuart says something snotty about the help these days. Pickett goes
inside and checks the phone -- still dead.

Maybelle is so absorbed with setting the table she's unaware
there's a snake in the chandelier. Pickett finds Jason alone in the gun room
again and breaks the news about Grover.

He says he did what he could for Grover's corpse: propped
him up in a silly pose and improvised a funny hat. Pickett thinks they should
send someone over to the mainland to notify the police. Jason gives Pickett a
sob story, explaining how he hates nature because wheelchair, and this birthday
party is all that's left in his life. (Except for the mansion, and his private
island, and the servants who wait hand and foot on His Imperial Crankiness.) He
persuades Pickett to stay the night, and fetch the police in the morning.

So what if Grover's corpse is being gnawed on by swamp
critters? Given the caring attitude already shown by his employer, it was
probably going to be a closed-casket service, anyway. If by "casket"
you mean "an old burlap sack" and by "service" you mean
"dump him in that sinkhole out in the north forty".

But such is Jason's raw animal magnetism that Pickett is
powerless to resist. Thump thump thump at the window: toads on the veranda!
There's a toad peeping through the window, trying to interest them in a copy of
"The Watchtower" -- those guys never give up.

Maybelle finally sees the snake, and screams. Everyone
rushes to the dining room. Jason appears, and in a disgraceful breach of
professional courtesy shoots the snake. Jason orders Charles to dispose of the
corpse, then, after it's removed from the table, snarls: "Well, what's
everybody standing around for? Let's eat!"

What the hell, blood and guts on the tablecloth are probably
nothing new at these gatherings. This bunch makes the Cheney family look like
the Cleavers.

Time for the big philosophical discussion: Jason believes
man should pillage and rape the planet, while Pickett wants to live in harmony
with it, braid its hair, live in a yurt and open up a boutique selling
hand-made scented dream-catchers. Pickett goes into his Cassandra-on-'ludes
song and dance again, but Jason blows him off: "All we do is sit and
wait!" Elliott does his Number One (concern).

Clint and Jenny argue in their bedroom. Jenny hates being
there, but Clint reminds her it's only two weeks a year, plus, when Jason kicks
off, they stand to inherit a shitload of money. I'd never have guessed this was
their motivation for putting up with the nasty old bastard. Not in a million
years.

Toads.

Outside, Pickett sits by a fountain, trying out his Number
Two (pensive). Karen joins him, and it's her turn to kvetch about the frogs'
unholy din -- which hardly rises above the level of muted croaking. (Who're you
gonna believe: the script or your lying ears? Or is this entire family
afflicted with Roderick Usher Syndrome?)

Karen asks how long he's been doing it. Pickett's too thick
to realize that's a blatant come-on, or he's deliberately ignoring it. Instead,
he discourses at length about the manly, be-your-own-boss world of freelance
pollution photography. Karen eventually gets him to shut up about it.

But she suspects something's not right, so she tries to
wheedle some information out of Pickett. All he'll tell her is he doesn't know
what's happening. (No kidding.) She asks him if he'd like to come inside.
Pickett's either too dense to catch yet another obvious hint, or more likely
he's got an assignation with Clint. She returns to the mansion, while Pickett
muses Number Two-ly by the fountain.

Mike wheels Jason to his table on the lawn in front of the
mansion. The children wish Grandpa a happy birthday. They're eager to know when
the fireworks will start. Mike does his best to crush their spirits -- although
that was a pretty dumb question for kids their age. (Hint: It'll be after that
big shiny thing leaves the sky.) Jenny's looking for Clint.

Toads. Kids. Toads. The kids light firecrackers. Toads.

Iris, Pickett and Karen are in the dining room -- that
snake-stain on the tablecloth came right out with a little soda water! Aunt
Iris flirts with Pickett (probably the most ghoulish scene in the entire movie)
then departs to mend her butterfly nets.

Pickett and Karen have an intimate conversation: Karen
admits she almost came by his room last night, but was afraid of making the
floorboards creak. Riiiiight. Pickett wants to talk with her some more. Give it
up, lady!

Lizards.

Fun and games on the lawn: Clint, swinging two pillows,
balances atop a log. (Clearly, this is symbolic compensation for the extreme
package-envy he's been suffering ever since Pickett appeared on the scene.)

Lizards.

Clint bullies Mike into a pillow fight for “King of the
Log”. Jason torments everyone with his LP of the most inept and irritating
marching band ever: it's as if someone threw three or four Sousa marches into a
blender, and made an endless loop out of the resulting mess. Clint cheats --
big surprise -- and knocks Mike down, twice. Uncle Stuart urges Mike to get
him, but his son runs off while Clint taunts him.

Clint hits on Bella again, again in plain view and earshot
of his wife. "How would you like to fight me for my log?" The entendres fly thick and fast in this
script!

Toads.

While the worst march music ever continues to assault
everyone's ears -- where's that deafening racket, when you really need it? --
pouty Mike has reattached himself to Grandpa. Pickett appears: he thinks they
should check the phone line. Clint wants to play games with Pickett. Jason
tells Clint to go eat his saltpeter pancakes.

All during this scene, the children parade relentlessly back
and forth in the background. This must be that old-fashioned discipline Grandpa
was extolling: a touch of the heat stroke will teach those whippersnappers not
to be late for his party!

Since nobody loves him and everybody hates him, Mike
volunteers to check the line. (Although that gawdawful music may also have had
something to do with his hasty departure.) After Mike exits, Pickett pulls
another Number One -- he gets a lot of mileage out of that one -- and reminds
Jason about Grover. Then he delivers another ominous warning about overuse of
pesticides and poisons.

Mike's preparing to depart. Maybelle brings him a Thermos,
presumably containing hot coffee. Just the thing for a Fourth of July in the
Deep South!

Toads.

Time for Pickett to saunter through the woods again, getting
some more practice in on his Number One. Toads. Snake. Toads. Mike driving the
jeep. More jungle noises. Toads. Pickett and his package. Rattler. Pickett.
Lizard. Toad. Pickett. Snake. Mike drives past a pair of lizards -- one of the
lizards rags on the other afterward for not showing more leg. Mike stops the
jeep and takes a potshot at some crows. Snake in a tree. Mike walks into the
woods.

Toads.

Fully justifying his reputation as the slow one in the
family, Mike inexplicably starts running through the forest, loaded shotgun in
hand. He stumbles and shoots off his kneecap.

While Mike's otherwise occupied, screaming and writhing in
agony, the killer Spanish moss realizes he's wide open. Yes, that's right:
killer Spanish moss. A half-dozen tarantulas make a guest appearance. Mike
thrashes around for ... oh, an hour or two, while the moss cocoons him and
spiders leisurely crawl around on top of the moss. Tarantulas. Extreme close-up
of tarantula mouth-parts. Mike dies. Signifying its utter contempt for its
victim, the moss sheds on him.

Then a lone scorpion shows up: "Sorry I'm late! Guys? Guys? Where is everybody?" (The
tarantulas, who're all hiding close by, have to struggle to suppress their
giggles.) Tragically, the scorpion only gets this one brief walk-on.

Another montage: Pickett. Snake. Pickett. Very dead Mike.
Tarantulas.

Back to the mansion: Iris sends Ken to the greenhouse for a
flower -- he's the artistic one, after all. Then Iris spots a rare butterfly:
she must have it! As Ken crosses the lawn, Uncle Stuart unsuccessfully tries to
start another fight, this time between Clint and Ken.

Toads.

Iris has her butterfly net. Toads. Iris stalks the
butterfly; she's drawn deeper and deeper into the woods. Ken walks toward the
greenhouse. Lizards scurry into the greenhouse ahead of him. Ken enters, not
suspecting he's heading into an ambush. He kills a caterpillar, driving the
lizards mad with fury! (They may not have any lines, but they're the most
consistently believable performances in this film.) Toads hop stealthily toward
the mansion.

Jason sends Stuart to look for Iris. Karen goes off to find
Ken. Clint's still busy hitting on Bella.

Ken finds his flower. The door to the greenhouse slowly
closes -- nothing happens quickly in this film -- as it's pushed from outside.
A lizard noses off a shelf first a bottle labeled "Caution" and then
another one that's labeled "Poison". (Which is why the stuff's in
Mason jars, precariously perched way up high on rickety shelving.) The jars
smash on the floor; the chemicals instantly mix like the components of binary
nerve gas, releasing thick clouds of deadly vapor. This is a special formula
known only to lizards, which has the remarkable property of killing humans
while leaving reptiles entirely unscathed. Or else they've practiced holding
their breaths for a really long time.

In what can only be taken as adding insult to injury, a
lizard also knocks down a jar of what sure looks like urine. Ken notices the
billowing vapor and decides to investigate. Carrying on brother Mike's
tradition of suicidal stupidity, he bends down to get a good lungful. He gasps
for breath, and dies. Lizards crawl all over Ken.

Toads.

Meanwhile, Jenny senses something bad's going on. She begs
Clint -- who's been knocking back the mango-ritas all morning -- to take her
and the kids away from here. Bella tries to talk some sense into Jason.

Pickett strolls up to the greenhouse, opens the door, finds
Ken dead and the poisonous gas helpfully dissipated. Bella's been looking for
Ken too. She comes up behind Pickett, and sees Ken's lizard-bedecked corpse.
She's horror-struck when she realizes he's not brainstorming the agency's Izod
promotion.

“Hey, get me: I'm
the Izod alligator!”

Toads.

Sobbing hysterically, Bella rejoins the lawn party and
informs everyone Ken is dead. Pickett and Charles return to the greenhouse
while the rest retreat to the mansion. Toads are hopping all over the cake and
dishes and silverware.

Pickett asks Charles if there's a place they can put Ken's
body. He's family, after all. Not like Grover, who'll be just fine out
decomposing in the swamp, in the summer heat.

(By an odd coincidence, this happens to have been my
Great-Aunt Myrtle's recurring nightmare. She was the one who put plastic covers
on the furniture, and would always wear gloves whenever she read a book from
the public library.)

Eventually, after what seems a geologic epoch, Iris manages
to get bitten by a rattler. She dies instantly. Toad. Iris staring up at the
sky. Toad. Iris turns a tasteful shade of pastel blue. Extreme close-up of a
toad's eye.

Pickett's finally decided to let the others in on the little
secret about Grover. Karen urges Jason to leave. Jason replies that he's just
as heartbroken as everyone -- which by this point wouldn't convince anyone.

Yet he insists: "I'm not going to let anything
interfere with today's schedule!" (Although he'll be hard-pressed to come
up with a replacement for Grover's presentation of "Toxins I've
Ingested", and Ken's dead-on impersonation of Holly Golightly was the
highlight of last year's gathering.)

Note that Jason delivers this statement after his
son-in-law, daughter and a grandson have disappeared, and his gardener and
another grandson are known to have died under mysterious -- in Ken's case,
extremely goofy -- circumstances. I know this is supposed to underscore Jason's
callous indifference, but really, it only makes him look cranky and senile.

Bella tells him he's one dumb-ass cracker. Charles
respectfully suggests everyone should get the hell out of Dodge. As usual, the
black characters are the only ones in the movie with any sense.

Jason gets huffy: "Just because of one small crisis,
everybody wants to run!"

He accuses his servants of disloyalty. Bella reminds Charles
and Maybelle that Lincoln freed the slaves. Jason tells Charles and Maybelle to
go, then, and never darken his towels again! He orders Clint to take them all
across the lake in his motorboat, check things out and get right back.

The toads are clearly massing for an attack. Pickett once
more pulls a Number One (concerned) and observes: "You're in for one hell
of a battle, Mr. Crockett. You'd better get ready for it!"

Toads.

Charles, Maybelle and Bella are ferried across the lake by
Clint. There's no one out on the water. Nobody home at Jerry's Bait Shop,
either, except for toads and a lizard. Lugging their suitcases, Bella and the
servants hurry past an empty lawn chair and a grill with burgers still sizzling
on it. Suddenly, the trio is attacked by blue-screen crows and seagulls! Toads.
Blue-screen birds chase them around a shack and out of sight. Toads.

Back to the mansion: Pickett's doing something semi-useful
for once, loading guns. (Although you'd think arming everybody with tennis
rackets would be a more effective tactic.) Increasingly anxious, Jenny takes a
pair of binoculars with her out on balcony. She sees the ski boat's empty and
adrift. Back at the dock, Clint discovers the line's been gnawed through. Gulls
wheeling. Clint decides to try swimming out to the boat. Cottonmouths. Clint
screams and goes under, then comes up again. He somehow makes it to the boat.
Cottonmouth. As he's climbing into the boat, Clint realizes his hand is bloody:
he smears the blood on his face, screams and sinks into the lake.

Jenny runs down to the shore. She gets "stuck" in
mud, or maybe her foot's caught in a root, in about three inches of water. A
snapping turtle slides off the bank, into the water. Jenny can't extricate her
foot! Snapping turtle. Toads.

Back to the mansion, where there are dozens of toads on the
veranda. Pickett runs to the tool shed to get the gas can. By the time he
returns, the toads have scattered. They're smart enough to avoid getting doused
with gasoline! (No wonder they've been winning this particular battle of wits.)

Pickett expounds his new "smart frog" theory to a
skeptical Jason, who sneers: "The frogs are thinking now, the snails are
planning strategy. Their brains are as good as ours: is that your point?"
Um, maybe you haven't been keeping up with current events, but who's getting
their big-brained butts kicked, Monkey Boy?

More tedious arguing with Jason: He calls them all wimps for
buggering off, then tells them to get the hell out. Then he uses ... sarcasm!
"Many happy returns of the day to me!" Karen and the kids try to say
goodbye, but -- a childish dick to the end -- he refuses to acknowledge them.

Now that the problem of just exactly how they were going to
wheel Jason down and hoist him and his chair into the canoe -- all while
fighting off an onslaught of killer toads -- has been conveniently solved,
Pickett, Karen and the kids sprint to the dock.

Oh no: Mommy's crab bait. Or rather, the filmmakers have
draped a few moribund blue crabs which have no doubt overstayed their
"Sell By" date in the seafood section at Food Clown over Jenny's body
double. Incidentally, it looks like it took only one snapper -- and not a very
large one, at that -- to do her in. It must have hit a vital spot on her ankle.

Just when it seems his heroic scarpering will succeed,
Pickett hangs the canoe on a snag. He removes his shirt for one last beefcake
shot -- for Clint -- then leaps into the water. A snake drops off a tree branch
onto Pickett: Surpriiiiise!

Here we get the first believable performance by Elliott, as
he yells "Jesus!" and frantically juggles a live albeit non-poisonous
snake. After some frenzied snake-handling, Pickett whacks the water with his
paddle to drive the (invisible) snakes away from his package. This movie gets
more Freudian by the minute.

Pickett finally realizes he should yank the canoe backwards,
instead of forwards, if he wants to get it off the snag. That's some right
fancy figurin' there, Tex! A gator swims sort of in their general direction.
Pickett scrambles back into the canoe, grabs his shotgun and shoots the gator.
Yes, animals were harmed during the course of this production.

He paddles the canoe up to the deserted bait shop's dock.
All ashore!

They find Bella's and the servants' abandoned luggage -- but
that's all. No blood or anything: this really is the tidiest unstoppable horde
of homicidal critters in the history of eco-horror flicks!

Pickett flags down a passing motorist. The driver doesn't
bat an eye when they all come running up to her station wagon, with Pickett
carrying a shotgun. Why, she gives rides to firearms-toting hitchhikers all the
time! That's just everyday Southern courtesy.

Everybody piles into the station wagon. The driver explains
she's just picked up her son from camp, and hasn't seen a soul on the road for
the last hour. The boy tells them the frogs were everywhere at camp! Having
learned something there that's far more fun than making wallets, he offers to
share his toad with them. Pickett goes completely ape and shoots the camper;
his mother loses control of the station wagon and everyone perishes in a fiery
Gotterdammerung!

Well, actually, all that happens is the scene ends with a
freeze frame of the toad. But my ending would have been much more satisfying.

Back to the mansion: It's nighttime, now, and Jason's
getting nervous. To put himself in the proper frame of mind for a miserable
death, he's listening to that horrific marching band. A toad plops onto the
record and it stops. Sure, they're planning to croak the obnoxious geezer, but
this was just too brutal.

The dog whines. Toads on the veranda again. Jason shakily
pours himself a drink, gulps it down. Closeups of the mounted heads and stuffed
animals. The dog growls. The phone rings -- there's nobody on the line! (Next
time, the lizards are planning to ask him if he's got Prince Albert in a can.)

Toads are all over the room now. Jason. The dog bolts from
the room. Toads. Jason. Toads. Jason. Toads. Jason.

“This is your P.O.V. in a Sixties' LSD exploitation flick”
cinematography suddenly invades the movie. The trophies start making noises:
the lion roars, the warthog grunts, the Jehovah's Witness wants to know if he's
found Jesus. (I think the toads may have slipped some roofies into his Jim
Beam.) The toads are everywhere, staring at him accusingly. Jason tries to do a
"Mein Fuhrer: I can walk!"
-- but his legs fail him. Toads attack him, crawling over his butt as he lies
helpless, face-down on the floor.

(It's a little-known fact, but John Boorman totally ripped
off this scene in that same year's hit movie, Deliverance.)

"Can you croak like a froggie?"

Jason -- toads -- a dizzy whirl! Exterior shot of the
mansion: one muffled shriek, and the lights go out.

After the credits run, a cartoon frog with a human hand
dangling from its mouth -- just like in the poster! -- hops into view. Michigan J. Frog, noooooooo! It slurps
down the hand. Blackout.

See, the filmmakers just winked at you! This was all one
extended joke. An unbelievably tedious joke that took forever to tell, made no
sense and went absolutely nowhere -- just like the ones your Uncle Frank would
tell at Thanksgiving dinner. That whole “You're in for the battle of your
life!” bit was just sucker bait: the real struggle is to stay awake.

Our main protagonist stands around a lot while ignoring Joan
van Ark's clumsy advances, takes a couple of walks in the woods by himself,
stares at swamp critters and recites the warning label he memorized from a can
of Raid for Ray Milland. In his last five minutes in the movie, he rouses
himself to action: bravely buggers off in his canoe, whacks some snakes with
his paddle, shoots a gator, and flags down a ride.

If there's a clear message here, it's that nature will rise
up and exact a terrible vengeance from loathsome rich people who don't care
enough about Mother Earth. Their hired help, closeted gays and immature jocks
who like to touch strangers inappropriately -- as well as the former
cheerleaders who marry them -- must also be considered fair game.

So remember, as Woodsy Owl so powerfully reminds us: “Give a
hoot -- don't pollute!” Or like Ray Milland, you too may end up being
relentlessly sodomized by a passel of horny toads.

Oh, man, does this bring back awful memories. I saw this on it's original theatrical run.

In the olden days, cinemas had lobbies where you'd see posters for upcoming films. 9 year old me saw this kickass poster with a GIANT MUTANT FROG EATING A HUMAN HAND. At this point, my birthday and Christmas could wait, the day this movie opened was the most eagerly awaited day of the year.

I nagged my parents as doggedly as a 9 year old can, and when the magic day arrived, my mom took me to the theater, me as eager as a dog being promised a walk to the Garden of Bacon.

The movie started... well, no, it didn't start, it just sort of... crept... into view. IMDB says this movie ran 91 minutes, but I could swear glaciers advanced and receded several times before the end.

And then, at the end of the credits, a badly animated giant frog swallows a human hand.

I have never known hatred of this intensity before or since.

Luckily I had forgotten Sam Elliot was in this steaming turd or I'd never be able to watch "The Big Lebowski" without sobbing.

Hank, a thoroughly well written piece. It was truly the takedown this abomination deserved.

And yet the question remains.HOW did the frogs off all the people?I mean, I can see the snakes and gators doing some serious bodily harm but froads?OK, Grouch, I'll once again accept your fine review as definitive and avoid this one, although I must admit, it wasn't really on my list.Suezboo

I'm convinced that when it came time to put together the ad campaign for this dog, they realized their only option was to pretend it was always meant as a joke.

@zrm

Agreed. Although you've set that particular bar so low it's about sixty miles down in the upper mantle.

@doc logan

Muchas Gracias. I can only imagine what my reaction would have been to this movie, if my first exposure to it had been as the feverishly anticipated highlight of my nine-year-old life, instead of just something to laugh at on late-night tv. There's nothing like the burning sense of injustice a child can feel, when they realize adults lie to them to screw them out of their hard-earned money.

@suezboo

Thanks!

I've toyed a bit with a theory it was in reality little Jason and his sister Tina who were in charge of the swamp critters, controlling them with their mutant powers a la Children of the Damned. Maybe they were just trying to get out of spending another vacation with the Dysfunctional Family Circus, and things just got a bit out of hand. Then again, they were the only survivors, except for their aunt, who could be useful for a while for dealing with the adults. And they'd get at least two-thirds of Grandpa's money ...

@tony

Well, you can't say you weren't warned.

I really have nothing against Sam Elliott. He's no Brando, but he's got an undeniable presence. He was perfect as The Stranger in TBL. I think every actor's allowed at least one really, really bad movie in their career, like Paul Newman and his starring role in a major stinkbomb called The Silver Chalice.